"Jane went to pull down the blinds about three-quarters of an hour ago,
and I heard the mistress playing the piano in here. Then she suddenly
stopped, but knowing that Jane was here I thought she was talking to
her. Then I didn't think any more about it till I found that the hot
water hadn't been put in the mistress's bedroom, and that the blinds
were still up. I went down to the kitchen, but cook said that Jane was
still with the mistress. I said she'd been there a long time, and cook
said perhaps she was getting a blowing up. It was 'er night out last
night, and she was a half-hour late, and Mrs Parham is very particular,
as you know."
"And didn't you hear anything?" I asked, surprised.
"Not a sound. It was the quietness of the place that first aroused my
suspicion," said the girl. "I crept along the hall and listened at the
door to hear what the mistress was saying to Jane. But there was no
sound. Then I went back and told cook, and we thought that they'd both
gone upstairs perhaps. Presently I went back and tapped at the door,
for it was nearly an hour since Jane had gone into the room. Nobody
answered, so I pushed the door open, and there, to my horror, saw 'em
both lying on the floor with these black things round their faces."
"And you rushed out and gave the alarm?"
"I called in Lane, who'd just finished work and was going home. Then we
hailed a telegraph boy who was passing and sent him for the doctor and
the police. At first we thought the poor mistress was dead, but, you
see, she's still breathing, although very slightly. Look!" she added,
holding up the scarf, "there's a funny smell about it."
"Chloroform!" declared the gardener, Lane. "I 'ad it when I 'ad my
operation in the 'orspital. I know that smell well enough."
"But what was the motive?" I asked, puzzled, glancing around the room
and noticing that beyond a chair having been overturned and an
antimacassar lying on the floor there was no sign of disorder.
The electric bell rang sharply, the cook went to answer the door, and a
few moments later a constable in uniform entered.
To him I briefly explained the circumstances, without, however, telling
him of the strange scene I had witnessed when I halted outside the gate.
Then after the housemaid and gardener had told their stories, he bent
over the prostrate lady, listening intently.
"She's still alive, that's quite certain," was his remark, then crossing
over to the girl he knelt beside her.
He made a cursory examination and shook his head dubiously. Like
ourselves, he had doubts whether she still breathed. I had placed my
hand upon her heart, but could discover no palpitation. There was a
rigidity about the body, too, that caused me to suspect that the scarf
had been around her mouth too long, and that she had expired under the
effects of the drug.
We explained to the constable that a doctor in the vicinity had been
called, and while we awaited his arrival I made a tour of the room with
the officer.
It was a beautifully furnished apartment in the Louis Quinze style, with
massive gold-framed mirrors and consoles, and furniture in gilt and pale
blue, a room which betrayed everywhere the hand of a woman of culture
and artistic taste.
Upon the wall was a large velvet-lined frame, on which were a number of
beautiful old miniatures, and behind the grand piano stood a huge palm
that reached nearly to the ceiling. Suddenly as I advanced to the
window, close to where the maid had been lying--for the gardener and the
cook's brother had now lifted her on to a small couch--I noticed that
there was a little glass-topped table in which were displayed some fine
pieces of antique silver, and standing upon it was a cabinet portrait in
a dark red leather frame.
The picture caught my eye and caused me to start. I stood glaring at it
in utter bewilderment, scarce believing my own eyes.
Was I mistaken in those features? No. It was the same face--
undoubtedly the same face!
The portrait was exactly similar, but somewhat larger, than that which
Eric and I had discovered in Winsloe's kitbag--the picture of the dead
unknown!
A sudden suggestion occurred to me to obtain possession of it. It might
be of the greatest use to us in establishing the unfortunate man's
identity. I therefore took it up, glanced at it, and in an abstracted
manner placed it upon a side table near a curtain, intending later on to
transfer it to the pocket of my overcoat--even at the risk of committing
the offence of theft. In this I saw no harm. I was seeking to solve a
mystery; and surely every mode was fair, now that a man had been done to
death.